Mistaken Identity
by Deana
Summary: Due to a case of mistaken identity, Bart is kidnapped and left with a lasting condition that could become permanent...if it doesn't kill him first.
1. Taken

.

 **Mistaken Identity**  
A Maverick story  
By Deana  
Disclaimer: I don't own Bart or the other Maverick boys!

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Bart Maverick felt like he was being watched.

Glancing this way and that, he walked in the dark towards one of Denver's hotels, where Bret and Beau currently were. They'd all been playing poker and as far as he knew, all three of them had made some good money. It was late; Bret and Beau's games had already ended but his had continued longer. He was tired but he didn't mind; the longer the game went on, the higher the stakes were. He had walked away the winner with five thousand dollars in his pocket.

The feeling that he was being watched grew and Bart drew his gun, but before he could raise it, an arm suddenly wrapped itself around his neck and a cloth was firmly pressed over his mouth and nose. A sickly scent invaded Bart's senses, and he didn't have time to hold his breath before he inhaled it. His brain immediately spun and he lost consciousness before he had time to form a single thought.

Bart's attacker kept the cloth over his face as he pulled Bart into an alley with help from another man. They laid him on the ground and held the cloth to his face as they checked to make sure that Bart was truly unconscious and not faking. Once they were confident, one of the men removed the cloth, rolled it up, and stuck it into a pocket before they both picked Bart up and carried him away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bret yawned as he left his hotel room the next morning. He could've slept longer, but he was dying to know if Bart had won his poker game last night, plus he was starving. He headed to his brother's room and knocked on the door. When he didn't hear 'come in', he knocked again. "Bart?" he called.

No answer.

Turning, Bret headed for Beau's room next, knocking and hearing his cousin reply. Walking in, he expected to find his brother in there, but only saw Beau.

"Well, good morning, Bret," said Beau, standing in front of his mirror and combing his hair.

"Mornin'," Bret answered. "Have you seen Bart?"

"Not yet this morning, why?"

"He didn't answer when I knocked on his door," Bret told him.

Beau turned to look at him. "Maybe he's still asleep."

Bret shook his head. Bart wasn't a heavy sleeper; the knocking would've woken him. "Did you see him last night after the game?"

Beau shook his head. "No."

Without another word, Bret left the room and knocked on his brother's door again. Still not getting an answer, he headed down the stairs and looked in the dining room. Bart wasn't there either, so he went to the front desk and asked the clerk to come up with their spare key to Bart's room. Knowing that the Mavericks were brothers, the clerk obeyed and followed.

Beau was coming out of his room once Bret returned, and they both watched as the clerk opened the door. Walking inside, they weren't surprised to find Bart not there, but they _were_ surprised to find that the bed had not been slept in.

Bret didn't even need to search the room; there was no sign of a struggle, and Bret could see that his brother's belongings were still there. He and Beau headed downstairs and to the saloon, hoping to find him there still playing.

They were disappointed.

"He left, all right," the bartender told him. "About midnight, after he won."

Bret and Beau looked at each other.

"Did you hear of anything happening after that?" Bret asked. "A fight, a shootout, an accident, anything?"

The man shook his head. "Nope, nothin' at all."

Bret sighed. This didn't make sense. He looked at Beau. "The livery stable."

Beau nodded. If Bart's horse was gone, that would at least provide them with a clue. They quickly headed there, and found what they were dreading; Bart's horse was still there.

"Where could he be?" Beau asked.

Bret sighed. "Someone grabbed him."

"To rob him?" said Beau.

"Probably," said Bret. He looked around nervously. "We should check the alleys."

Beau nodded. Bart could be lying unconscious somewhere…or worse.

They quickly split up and checked all of the alleys in town, coming up with nothing. They both met up at the one across from the hotel, and found their first clue: Bart's gun.

Bret picked it up. He opened the chamber to see that it had not been fired.

"You're right," said Beau. "Someone grabbed him. But why did they take _him_ and not just his money?"

Bret shook his head with a sigh. "I wish I knew."

Their next trip was to the sheriff's office, where they found out that the town currently didn't _have_ a sheriff…for the next week, while he was transporting a prisoner.

"What do we do now?" Beau exclaimed, exasperated. "We have no idea who took Bart or where to look!"

Bret had no answer for him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Waking up was usually not so hard. Normally, a person became consciously aware of his surroundings, opened their eyes, and voila, they were awake. It was _not_ normal for a person to feel like their limbs were as heavy as lead, or for their eyes to feel glued shut, or for their head to feel so full of cotton that they couldn't put a single thought together. Bart's mouth felt as dry as the desert and his tongue felt thick. There was a burning sensation inside his nose and throat, and his head was throbbing mercilessly. He could hear someone breathing heavily, and it took a moment for Bart to realize that the sound was coming from himself. As he became more aware, he realized that his chest was aching and felt like someone was sitting on it; he couldn't take a full breath, and it was frightening. Suddenly, he became aware of voices.

"You idiots!" he heard. "How much did you use?"

"The whole bottle," said another voice. "We just poured it all onto the cloth."

"How long did you hold it over his face?"

"Uh…I dunno, thirty seconds?"

"Thirty?! _Five_ seconds was enough!"

Bart could hardly understand what he was hearing. The voices were making his headache worse, and he groaned.

"He's waking up!" one of the voices said.

"It's about time," the angry voice answered. "Hey Maverick."

Bart couldn't open his eyes. He just lay there wherever it was he was lying…he couldn't even tell. His whole body felt numb and he suddenly felt like he was floating. He still couldn't breathe properly; finding it impossible to catch his breath.

The voice said something else to him, but it sounded like it was underwater. Bart lost consciousness again without ever opening his eyes.

The three men stared at Bart as he lay there on the floor. His face was extremely pale and he was completely motionless.

One of the men turned to look at the other two. "If he dies before I have a chance to take my revenge, then you two will be next!"

Both men gulped.

"He has a lot of money in his pocket," one of them said, to appease him. "He won a poker game before we grabbed him."

The man turned from them and knelt beside Bart, opening his jacket and finding his wallet. Before he had a chance to open it, he stared at the name on the front. "Bart Maverick?" He turned and looked at the other two, who showed no reaction. "Bart Maverick?!" He stood and walked over to them, showing them the name on the wallet and pointing at their unconscious victim on the floor. "You brought me the wrong man!"

TBC


	2. Too Much

Bret and Beau paced inside the lobby of the hotel, trying to figure out their next course of action. They had none…not knowing who had taken Bart, and why. There was absolutely nothing to go on, and they were both very upset.

Suddenly, the clerk called them over. "Mr. Maverick!"

Both Bret and Beau looked up to see the clerk waving a piece of paper in the air. They both headed over and Bret grabbed it, opening and reading it aloud.

 _Bret Maverick,  
If you want your brother back, then be at the edge of town in a half-hour. Give yourself up and I'll let him go. Bring the sheriff or anyone else, and I'll kill him in front of you.  
Clyde Webster_

Bret frowned. "Clyde Webster?"

"Who's he?" Beau asked.

Bret shook his head. "I have no idea."

"Let's go," Beau said, taking a step towards the door.

Bret grabbed Beau's arm. "He said he'd kill Bart if I brought anyone else."

"I know," said Beau. "I'll hide. What if he's wounded and they just throw him in the dust?"

Bret nodded. That was true. "All right, come on."

The two Mavericks quickly left and retrieved their horses from the livery stable, before heading towards the edge of town. Beau fell back and dismounted behind the last building, hiding from sight.

Bret remained on his horse and waited. Finally, two men rode up, guns drawn.

"Where's my brother?" Bret asked.

"You come with us first," said one of them. "Then we bring him here."

Bret couldn't say that he was surprised. He had to fight the urge to look behind himself for Beau, hoping that he'd heard that.

The man then pointed his gun at Bret, riding closer and grabbing Bret's gun out of his holster. "If anyone else is here, you better not follow us," he called. "We'll keep watching. If we see anyone, we'll kill them both!"

Bret sighed at that: so much for their plan for Beau to follow.

Beau sighed too. _Figures,_ he thought.

"Let's go," the man said to Bret.

With that, all three men rode away.

 _Beau,_ Bret thought. _Looks like it's up to you, now._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bret was led to a shack and ushered inside. Ignoring the other man in the room, he looked for his brother and spotted him on the floor. At the sight, he hurried over and dropped to his knees. Bart looked terrible, but he couldn't find any wounds. "What did you do to him?!" he exclaimed.

"You can thank these two," Clyde said, gesturing to his henchmen. "They gave him too much chloroform."

"What?" Bret said. He quickly reached for the pulse on his brother's neck and found his heart beating too slowly, throwing extra beats and missing others completely. It was very frightening, and Bret wanted to let go from the sheer horror at the fact that Bart's heart was doing everything _but_ what it was supposed to do. His brother's skin wasn't just pale, it was gray. "Has he woken up?"

Clyde folded his arms. "Once, for a minute."

Bret turned to look at him. "You're telling me that he's been unconscious for nearly eleven hours?!"

Clyde nodded, looking like he didn't care. "Yep."

Bret turned back to Bart and gently tapped his face with his left hand, keeping the fingers of his right on his brother's excuse-for-a-pulse. "Bart?" he called, urgently. "Bart, wake up."

It took a few taps, and suddenly, Bart was breathing as if he'd been running.

Bret kept his hand on the side of Bart's face, letting go of his pulse to lay his other hand on his brother's struggling chest. "Bart, it's Bret, calm down."

But Bart couldn't; it was too hard to breathe.

"Bart, listen to me," Bret said, putting his right hand on the other side of Bart's face. "Slow down your breathing. Open your eyes."

The voice making its way through Bart's ears sounded garbled. He was dizzy and it still felt like something was sitting on his chest.

"Open your eyes, Bart," Bret said again. "Look at me!"

Bart suddenly did, but Bret didn't know if it was because he finally understood the words or if he just wanted to see whose hands were on him. His eyes opened wide as he struggled to take in air.

"Bart," Bret said again.

Bart looked at him, and Bret was relieved to see recognition in his eyes. He let go of his brother's face and unlaced Bart's tie before opening the top three buttons on his shirt and unbuttoning his vest. He then unbuckled his brother's belt and untucked his shirt, to get rid of anything that might be helping to constrict his breathing. He removed his own jacket and folded it, before gently raising Bart's head and sliding it under to use as a pillow.

"Bret," Bart whispered, before his eyelids suddenly drooped closed.

Bret again felt his pulse. It had quickened in response to his brother's distress, and was even more erratic than before. "Calm down!" he exclaimed.

"Can't…breathe…" Bart replied, opening his eyes again.

Bret had never been so scared in his entire life. He suddenly remembered the reason for Bart's state and turned to see the three men quietly watching. "Why did you do this to him?!" he exclaimed.

"It was a guarantee to grab him without a sound," Clyde answered.

"Didn't you know that too much chloroform can kill?!" Bret exclaimed. He looked down at Bart to see him still struggling to breathe. "If he dies, I'll kill you all with my bare hands!" he said, as if he wasn't _their_ prisoner. A gun suddenly poked him in the back.

"Get up," said Clyde.

Bret turned his head and glared at him.

"Get up, or Ned and Emmet shoot your brother."

Both of the men pointed their guns at Bart.

Bret looked at Bart for a second before reluctantly letting go of him and standing up. He faced Clyde with a sigh. "Now what?"

Clyde smiled. "Now you _die_."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Beau stood at the edge of town, waiting to see if this Clyde fellow was really sending Bart back. Part of him doubted it: a _large_ part of him. He'd watched the direction that Bret and the other man had ridden in and was itching to follow, but the kidnapper's threat of shooting Bret and Bart if they were pursued echoed in his mind.

Beau waited for a long time, and when it became obvious that Bart was not going to show up, he mounted his horse and rode out of town, hoping that he was far enough away to not be spotted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Now I die?" said Bret. "What did I ever do to you?"

"You killed my father," Clyde said, angrily.

Bret sighed. _It figures._ "Who was your father?" He anxiously looked back down at Bart, who was still having obvious trouble breathing.

"Clyde Webster the first," Clyde told him.

"All right, Junior, when was I supposed to have killed him?" Bret asked.

Bart suddenly groaned.

Without asking for permission, Bret knelt beside his brother again and felt his pulse. Bart's heartbeat was all over the place, thanks to the chloroform overdose.

Bart looked up at his brother, and Bret could see the fear in his eyes. It wasn't a sight that he saw very often, and it made him even angrier at Clyde and his men. "You're gonna be fine, Bart," Bret said to him, putting a comforting hand on his head. He desperately hoped that it wasn't a lie.

"Can't…breathe…" Bart repeated. The gray color of his skin was scary to see.

"You're breathing," said Bret. "Just try to slow it down."

Bart closed his eyes for a moment. Bret obviously didn't understand that he couldn't get enough oxygen. Bart could feel his heart dancing it's own rhythm, and it was very frightening. Was he about to die? If not, would be become an invalid for the rest of his life with a diseased heart?

"Open your eyes, Bart," Bret suddenly said.

Bart obeyed, opening them halfway. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired, and his head started to spin.

Bret saw the change overtake his brother, and watched as Bart's eyes closed again and his breathing abruptly slowed as the tension in his body melted away. A stabbing pain took hold of Bret's own lungs when he thought that he'd just watched his brother die, but Bart's heart kept up its uneven stutter, and Bret realized that he'd passed out.

With a sigh, Bret lowered his head and covered his eyes with a shaky hand, feeling overwhelmed by his brother's serious condition.

" _Excuse_ me," Clyde said, sarcastically. "I believe we were having an important conversation."

Bret turned to look at him again, and if looks could kill, Clyde would have disintegrated.

"You killed my father six months ago in Kansas City," Clyde said. "After a poker game in which you accused him of cheating!"

Bret frowned and stood. "I haven't been in Kansas City in over a year," he said. "You got your signals crossed somewhere, Junior."

Clyde blinked. "You're lying!" He pulled back the hammer on his gun and pointed it at Bart. "Tell me the truth or your brother dies first!"

Bret shook his head and moved, blocking the gun from pointing at Bart. "That _is_ the truth! Do you think I want you to hurt my brother more than you already have?"

Clyde had to pause. Was it possible? He wanted to kill the man who killed his father; what good was it to kill the wrong person and let the real killer remain free? He turned to look at his men. "Keep an eye on them, I'm going to town to send a telegram." He looked at Bret. "If I find out that you _did_ kill him and lied to me, then I'll kill your brother in front of you when I get back." With that, he strode towards the door and left.

TBC


	3. Which One?

Beau rode as fast as he dared, not wanting Clyde or his henchman to spot him. The note to Bret had said, 'bring anyone else and I'll shoot your brother', and those words haunted him. He sighed, wondering for the millionth time how they got into these messes.

Beau suddenly came upon some rocks and realized that he could hear a galloping horse. He dismounted, going over to the edge of the boulders and peeking around them. It was a good thing, for a man on horseback suddenly blasted by, narrowly missing seeing him. If he'd ridden around the rocks without stopping, he would've been instantly caught. He wondered where the man was going in such a hurry and knew that it couldn't be a good thing, so he quickly mounted again and rode around the rocks. He was surprised to spot a shack, and he dismounted again and tied his horse's reins around a sapling before stealthily creeping towards it. He came to a window and peeked inside, spotting Bret kneeling beside Bart, who he couldn't see very well. A stab of fear hit his stomach, but he had no time to wonder what they had done to his cousin before the face of a stranger popped up from below the window inside, and nearly startled Beau to death.

It was Ned, and he raised his gun to point at Beau's face through the glass, before doing the 'come here' gesture with his finger.

Beau pointed to himself as if to say, 'who, me?'

Ned nodded.

With a sigh, Beau took a step towards the door, which opened as Ned came out.

"Inside," he said, gesturing with the gun.

"All right, all right, no need to get nasty," Beau said, hands raised as he walked into the door. He felt Ned take the gun out of his holster as he passed him, and Beau lowered his arms and hurried over to kneel beside Bret. "What happened?"

"Chloroform…and they gave him too much," Bret told him. The expression of fear that he shot at him made Beau realize how serious it was. "Feel his pulse."

Beau obeyed, wrapping his fingers around Bart's wrist and feeling the uneven, stuttering beat. He looked at Bret with shock on his face.

Before he could say anything, Ned came back over and pointed the gun at him. "Go sit in that chair."

Beau made a show of looking around. "Which chair? There are more than one."

Ned rolled his eyes. "That one," he said, gesturing to the chair that was closest to them.

"Can't I stay right here?" said Beau. "The view is lovely from the floor."

"NOW!"

Beau sighed and shot a look at Bret as he stood. Raising his hands, he headed over to the chair and sat down.

"Tie him up, Emmet," said Ned.

Emmet grabbed some rope off a nearby table and obeyed.

Bret kept his attention on Bart, never removing his fingers from his pulse. Half of him wanted to try to wake his brother up, but the other half was glad that Bart didn't have to lie awake gasping for air. He wondered if the sudden loss of consciousness had been caused by the chloroform that was still in Bart's bloodstream, or if it was because of his irregular heartbeat. Either way, he knew that they needed to get Bart out of there _now…_ but in his condition, was it safe to move him?

Bret raised his left hand and scrubbed it over his face. Anything that affected Bart's heartbeat could possibly kill him. What on earth were they going to do?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In town, Clyde had sent his telegram and was waiting impatiently for the reply. When it came, he quickly read it before angrily folding it and sticking it into his pocket. Storming out of the telegraph office, he mounted his horse and took off, nearly running over an innocent old lady in his haste.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Beau sat quietly in his chair, his eyes never leaving his unconscious cousin. Nothing in his entire life had ever shocked him as much as the feel of Bart's pulse…instead of the typical two beats, it did four, then three, then four, and then there was a space of time before three again…not once did it do what it was supposed to; not _once_. If Bart didn't die, Beau wondered if the irregular heartbeat would be permanent.

Bret's back was killing him by now after leaning over for so long to keep his fingers on the pulse on the side of Bart's neck, so he turned his body around and sat beside his brother, leaning back against the wall with Bart's arm in his lap so he could keep his fingers on the pulse in his wrist instead. He was so worried that he didn't notice that Beau was trying to get free.

When Emmet had tied Beau's wrists behind him in the chair, Beau had kept his wrists as far apart as he could as the rope looped around them. He had succeeded in keeping room to maneuver, and fought to pull a thumb free. Once he did that, he knew that he would be able to pull one hand out. It took a little while, but he eventually succeeded. Suddenly, he craned his neck to look towards a window, and exclaimed, "Is that the sheriff?"

Ned and Emmet were shocked to hear that, and they both rushed to get to the window, passing between Beau and Bret. As if they'd planned it, Bret grabbed Emmet and Beau grabbed Ned, disarming them both.

Bret pointed the gun into Emmet's face. "Which one of you chloroformed him? _Which one?_ "

Emmet opened his mouth and closed it again, in fear.

"Forget that for now, Bret," said Beau, throwing Ned into the chair that he'd been occupying and tying him up. "We need to get Bart out of here."

Bret glared daggers at Emmet for another second before throwing him into another chair and tying him up too. He then went back to Bart and knelt. "I don't think he'll last on horseback," he said, as Beau knelt beside him. "We need a wagon."

Beau nodded his agreement. "I don't suppose there's one around here?" Beau turned around and pointed his gun at Ned. "Is there?"

Ned nodded. "In the back."

Beau inclined his head. "Much obliged." He stood and headed outside, grabbing Bret's horse and taking it around the back towards the wagon. Once there, he hitched the horse to it and walked it to the front of the shack, before talking the canteen off the horse.

Inside the shack, Bart appeared to be waking up again; his breathing had started to increase and he'd given a little moan.

Bret gripped his shoulder. "It's Bret, Bart, don't get upset," he said. "Your heart decided to go dancing, but it's doing a dance that I can't say I've ever seen before."

Bart said nothing, eyes still closed, breathing heavily.

Bret heard the door open but he didn't look up. "Did you find it, Beau?" he asked.

"Yes," came Beau's voice. "But we have a problem."

Bret looked up to see Clyde walking behind Beau with his gun pointed at his back. His own heart seemed to freeze in his chest, and he gave no answer.

"So," said Clyde, as if nothing had happened. "I sent my telegram and received a reply."

Since Bret hadn't killed Clyde's father, he expected good news…so the gun in Beau's back didn't make sense. "And?"

"You're right," said Clyde. "You didn't kill my father."

Bret smiled. "Great! Did they tell you who did?"

Clyde nodded. "They did indeed." He took the paper out of his pocket and tossed it to him.

Bret opened it, and was shocked at what he read: _The name on the hotel roster that night wasn't Bret Maverick, it was Bart Maverick._

Bret dropped the telegram.

TBC


	4. The Right Man

Clyde strode over, pushing Beau ahead of him with the gun in his back. " _Bart_ Maverick killed my father," he said. "So we had the right man all along."

"Nobody's perfect," Beau remarked, tossing the canteen to Bret. "In fact, it's an easy mistake to make; 'Bret' and 'Bart' both have one syllable, both begin with 'B', both end with 't', and both have four letters. In fact, so does mine, except that I don't have a 't' at the end..."

"Shut up!" Clyde said, knowing that Beau was trying to stall. He pushed Beau past the Maverick brothers and pointed his gun at Bart. "Move away from him," he said to Bret, ready to take his revenge.

Bret's heartbeat sped up and he leaned over his brother to protect him. "No," he said. "If you're going to kill him, then you have to kill me too."

"Fine with me," said Clyde, as he pulled back the hammer on the gun.

Suddenly, Beau took a flying leap and tackled Clyde, taking the man by surprise. The gun went flying, and for the first time since Bret had arrived, he let go of Bart's pulse to grab the gun.

Beau punched Clyde, angry for what he'd done to Bart, and Bret quickly ran over and shoved the gun into Beau's hands so he could grab Clyde and take over.

Clyde never knew what hit him. Within seconds, he was lying on the floor, unconscious.

Bret stood over him breathing heavily for a minute before turning and going back over to Bart, where Beau was kneeling.

"I think he's waking up," said Beau.

That was indeed the case; Bart's breathing was coming too fast again and his eyes were squeezed shut.

"The wagon outside is ready," Beau said.

Bret nodded, his fingers once more on his brother's erratic pulse. "Bart? Can you look at me?"

Bart opened his eyes.

Bret tried to smile at him, but it wasn't easy while looking at his brother's grayish skin. "We're getting you out of here; have some water." He slid his arm under his brother and pulled him upright only far enough to drink.

The way Bart was breathing, swallowing wasn't easy, so Bret fed him tiny sips until his brother was satisfied.

"I assume we're carrying him out?" Beau said.

Bret nodded. "I don't want his heart to have to do any work." _I don't know if he'd survive it,_ he left unsaid. He tightened his arm around his brother's back and slid his other arm under his brother's knees before standing, glad that Bart was the lightest of the Mavericks.

Bart made no protest, which was alarming in itself.

Beau went ahead and opened the door before helping Bret get Bart situated in the wagon. "I'll go tie up Clyde."

The mere mention of the name made Bret angry. "Hurry," he said.

Beau dashed in and obeyed, hog-tying Clyde with enough rope for two people before looking at Ned and Emmet, who'd silently watched from their own tied-up positions. Letting his anger show in his eyes, Beau said nothing before hurrying back outside.

Bret had tethered his and Beau's horses to the wagon while he'd waited, and made Beau drive it while he stayed in the back with Bart. It was torture watching his brother fight for breath, and he was grateful that Denver had a real hospital.

The trip there, however, seemed like the longest ride he'd ever taken.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Bret carried Bart into the Denver hospital, a doctor happened to be standing just inside the door. He quickly led Bret to a room where he made him lie Bart on a bed before shooing him out. Bret sighed and looked at Beau.

"I'll go see if the sheriff is back in town," said Beau. "If not, I'll see if I can round up a posse to bring those three to the jail. The sheriff _must've_ left his keys to the cells behind!"

Bret sighed, grateful to his cousin for taking over that part of the situation so he could stay with Bart. "Thanks, Beau," he said, squeezing his arm.

"We can't let those men get away after what they did," Beau angrily said. "Just…tell Bart that I'll be back as soon as I can."

Bret nodded, knowing what his cousin was really saying: _don't let him die while I'm gone._ "I will."

Beau nodded too, before quickly heading away.

Bret sighed again and started to pace. It was quite a while before the door opened and the doctor came out. "How is he, doc?"

The doctor sighed. "Lucky to be alive. His heart is under tremendous stress."

"Will he live?" Bret asked, terrified of the answer.

The doctor hesitated. "It's hard to say. I don't know if there's any permanent damage to his heart; we won't know that until the chloroform has a chance to get out of his bloodstream, which will likely take days. It's possible that his heartbeat will return to normal then."

Bret wasn't sure whether to be further afraid by the doctor's words or hopeful. "Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded. "You can spend as much time with him as you'd like," he said, never dreaming of splitting the brothers up when one of them might die.

They both entered the room again, to find that Bart was unconscious once more.

"That's normal, under the circumstances," said the doctor. "It could be from either one of the chloroform overdose, or the irregular heartbeat."

Bret sighed and sat in the chair beside the bed. His brother still looked terrible, and was lying at an incline to aid his breathing. "Is there any kind of treatment that would help him?"

The doctor nodded. "We can give him oxygen." He pointed at a covered bucket on the floor that contained the chemicals. "I did so when he was awake."

"Did that make it easier for him to breathe?" Bret asked. "Why did you stop?"

"We can only give oxygen to a patient for five minutes at a time," the doctor told him.

Bret frowned. "Why is that?"

"It's believed that it makes a healthy body age faster."

Bret blinked. "What kind of nonsense is that? Does he _look_ healthy right now?" he asked, pointing at Bart, whose skin still looked gray.

"We'll see how he is when he wakes up," the doctor told him. "There's nothing that we can do while he's unconscious."

Bret sighed. At least Bart didn't struggle for air when he was out cold.

The doctor checked his patient's pulse again, fussed with the blanket, and eventually left.

Bret pulled the chair closer and reached over to clasp Bart's hand, where it lay on the bed. "I dunno if you can hear me, Bart, but I'm telling you right now that you better not die on me." He gave a humorless laugh. "Pappy would never be able to accept that his boy is gone…and neither would I." He had to stop and swallow for a second when he suddenly couldn't get out anymore words. "I can't live without you, little brother, so don't get any stupid ideas of leaving this world so young, you hear?"

Bart naturally, gave no reaction.

Bret sighed heavily and closed his eyes, hanging his head. He suddenly heard Bart's breathing increase, and looked up.

"Not…going…anywhere…Bret," Bart managed to say.

Bret jumped to his feet and immediately grabbed the bucket of oxygen and opened it, before trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. He sat it on the chair and grabbed the towel off the nightstand and started to wave the fumes towards his brother.

Bart's breathing wasn't as gaspy, and he seemed less panicked as he tried to breathe.

"Is this helping?" Bret asked, wanting to hear it from Bart's own lips.

Bart nodded, closing his eyes.

Bret was relieved, and kept it up.

It was a minute before Bart reopened his eyes again, and he appeared to be more aware. "Where?" he asked.

Bret understood. "The Denver hospital. Try not to talk, Bart, I'll try to anticipate your questions, okay?"

Bart nodded, still breathing heavily, but in a more-controlled manner.

"The doctor said that your heartbeat might return to normal once the chloroform is out of your bloodstream."

"Might?" Bart echoed.

Bret sighed. "He said it's too early to know for sure." He deliberately left out the part about not knowing whether or not Bart would live. "This is oxygen, obviously."

Bart nodded.

"Beau went back to the shack with a posse to bring those three to jail," Bret told him next. "They won't get away with this."

Bart nodded again.

"Did I answer all of your questions?" Bret asked, still waving the oxygen fumes towards his brother.

Bart shook his head.

"Can whatever it is wait until you can actually speak a full sentence?" Bret asked.

Bart closed his eyes and shook his head again.

"What is it then, in as little words as possible?" Bret asked.

Bart reopened his eyes and looked at him. "Why?" he asked.

Well, that was definitely the _least_ amount of words! "He said that you killed his father in Kansas City six months ago after a poker game."

If Bart had enough breath, he would've sighed. "Self-defense," he said.

Bret nodded. "Of course. Now no more talking."

Bart closed his eyes, still breathing heavily. His skin was still gray.

Bret kept up with the oxygen, not caring about the ridiculous five-minute rule. All he knew was that the oxygen was helping his brother breathe, so how could he stop giving it to him? He kept it up even after his arms started to hurt, and even when his arms felt like they would fall off.

Bart eventually passed out again.

When Beau came back, he was afraid of what he would find. _Please don't let Bart be dead,_ he prayed. _Please!_ Running down the hall to Bart's room, he opened the door to see Bret waving a towel towards the bed.

Bret turned when he heard him come in.

"Alive?" Beau asked, before holding his breath for the answer.

"Alive," Bret replied, with a slight smile.

Beau sighed with relief and came over to the bed.

"Clyde in jail?" Bret asked.

Beau shook his head. "No, even better…he's dead."

TBC

That five-minute-rule was really what they thought in those days! They were so misguided!


	5. Unexpected, but Welcome

Bret didn't expect that, and stopped waving the towel, in shock. "Clyde is dead?"

Beau nodded. "He pretended to still be unconscious as I untied him, and once he was free, he grabbed for my gun, so I shot him."

Bret nodded. "Good," he couldn't help but say, as he started waving the towel again.

Beau watched his cousin, puzzled. "I assume that's oxygen."

Bret nodded.

"So that's how it's administered," said Beau.

Bret nodded again.

Beau stuck his hand inside his jacket. "I found something in Clyde's pocket." He held up Bart's wallet. "There's five thousand dollars in it."

Bret was relieved. "Bart will be happy to see that!" he said.

Beau nodded, before reaching for the towel. "Let me take over for a while."

Bret let him take it, and sat down.

For the whole night, Bret and Beau took turns giving Bart the oxygen, despite what the doctor said when he came back in and found out that they'd been doing it for hours.

"But it's helping him!" Bret had argued. "How can you expect us to stop?"

The doctor had no answer for that, and since he thought that Bart was going to die anyway, he left them to it.

Bart spent a terrible night. When he wasn't passed out, he was awake and unable to sleep because it was still too difficult to breathe. Bart was glad to see that Beau had returned, relieved that both his brother and cousin had escaped from the incident unharmed. He could see the worry and fear in their faces though, and tried to control his breathing for their sake, but he simply couldn't do it; he felt like he'd been running further than he was capable of, and it felt like something was painfully sitting on his chest. It wasn't quite as bad as when he'd woken in the shack though, and he knew that it was because of the oxygen that the other two Mavericks were constantly waving in his face.

Suddenly, an arm slid under his shoulders and lifted him up slightly before a cup touched his lips. He realized that one of them—he wasn't sure which—had asked him if he'd wanted some water. He'd forgotten to answer.

Beau fed the water to Bart very slowly, not wanting to risk choking him.

Bart drank it, eyes closing sleepily. The overdose of chloroform still coursing through his bloodstream was more than enough to continue stealing his consciousness, and he kept drifting off and forgetting to drink.

When Beau realized that Bart was passing out again, he gave him a little shake, hoping that it would rouse him long enough to drink some more.

It did, slightly, and Bart got two more swallows before his body went limp in Beau's arm.

Beau sighed as he gently laid his cousin back down in the bed, keeping him at the incline to help his breathing. He put the cup on the nightstand and felt Bart's pulse.

It was Bret's turn to wave the oxygen at Bart, and he watched Beau anxiously. "Any change?"

Beau almost cringed at the non-rhythmic beat. "No." He sighed. "It probably hasn't been long enough for any of the chloroform to have left his blood."

Bret sighed and continued to wave the oxygen towards his brother.

The doctor confirmed Beau's statement when he came in to check on Bart. With the amount of chloroform that Bart had been dosed with, it would take days for it to be out of his bloodstream, and probably a good couple of weeks for the effects to be gone…if Bart lived.

When morning came and the bright sunlight streamed into the window, their spirits were slightly lightened, especially since Bart wasn't currently fighting to breathe; the last time he'd passed out had been nearly four hours ago, and Bret and Beau were hoping that it meant he was asleep, not unconscious.

Beau was waving the oxygen at Bart, so Bret gently took hold of his brother's wrist and felt his pulse. It was still very uneven. "I think, after this, I'm taking Bart to a town that we've never been to before," he said. "That way, we don't have to worry about anyone knowing us and trying to take revenge for their imagined woes. Wanna come?"

Beau nodded. "Absolutely."

Bret nodded back. "Good."

It was another hour before Bart woke up, announcing it with his suddenly sped-up breathing.

Bret leaned over the bed and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Bart, take it easy, you're all right."

Bart's eyes opened halfway and he gave a little smile. "I'm…alive."

Those words caused an actual pain to grip Bret's chest. "Of course you are," he said. Did Bart hear his conversation with the doctor when they'd thought that Bart was unconscious? He suddenly saw that though Bart's breathing was still too fast and heavy, it seemed more controlled. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Bart said, eyes half-closed.

"Are you in any kind of pain?" Bret asked.

Bart's eyes closed and he didn't answer.

"Bart," Bret said, squeezing his arm.

Bart half-opened his eyes again. "Sorry. Chest…feels…heavy."

Bret sighed. He took Bart's covers and folded them down, to take off some of the 'weight'. "Is that better?"

Bart nodded.

Bret smiled at him. Bart's skin was still the wrong color, but his breathing wasn't as jerky; he hoped it meant that it was becoming easier for Bart to breathe, and that it wasn't simply because Bart had become accustomed to it. "You should eat something, Bart."

If Bart had enough breath to sigh, he would've. Instead, he shook his head.

Bret had a feeling that they would get that for a response. He looked at Beau, who shrugged as if to say, 'we can't force him'. Chloroform was known for upsetting the stomach, and they certainly didn't want to make Bart feel worse than he already did.

The day passed slowly, with Bret and Beau constantly giving Bart the oxygen. Bart hardly spoke and was asleep more than awake, and when night fell again, Bret and Beau had to take turns sleeping, as neither of them had gotten any sleep the night before and were nearly as exhausted as Bart was.

The next morning, Bret woke to an unexpected sight: there was a stranger sitting in Beau's chair beside the bed. He had his head lowered and was whispering something, one hand clasping Bart's wrist and the other hand gently laying over Bart's heart.

Bret quickly sat up from his slumped position. "Who are you?" he exclaimed.

The man looked up and let go of Bart's wrist, holding his hand out in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry to have alarmed you," he said. "I'm the reverend of the church at the end of the street."

Bret blinked as he realized that the man was praying over his brother.

"Today is Sunday," said the man. "After service, I and others from the church come to the hospital to pray for the patients. I always take the one who is in the worst shape."

So Bart was currently the hospital's most critical patient? That wasn't encouraging.

"The doctor told me what happened," said the reverend. "Truly a terrible situation."

Bret nodded, with a sigh. "Yeah."

"But fear not, your brother will be fine."

Before Bret could react to that statement, the door opened and Beau came in. He saw that Bret was awake and headed over. "The doctor came in," he said to Bret. "We went into the hall to discuss Bart so we wouldn't disturb the reverend."

"What did he say?" Bret anxiously asked.

Beau sighed. "Nothing any different. We just have to wait to see what happens as the chloroform leaves Bart's blood."

Bret nodded.

The reverend looked at his watch and stood. "I have to go." He reached out to shake Bret's hand. "I need to leave on the stage in ten minutes, but I wanted to come here first."

Bret grasped his hand tightly. "Thank you," he said, sincerely.

The reverend nodded. "I'll be back here next Sunday. If your brother is still a patient, I'll come pray for him again."

Bret nodded. "I appreciate it."

The reverend nodded, shook Beau's hand, and left.

Bret looked at Beau, and didn't know what to say.

"That was unexpected," said Beau.

Bret nodded and looked at Bart, lying still and pale in the bed. "But welcome."

TBC


	6. Hope

The day passed quietly, with Bart remaining asleep or unconscious, they weren't sure which. He only woke a few times, and only long enough to drink some water. His breathing was still labored as his heart continued it's uneven rhythm, but he was never awake long enough to tell them if he felt any better.

Finally, dawn rose again, marking Bart's third day in the hospital. It was encouraging that he still lived, but Bret and Beau both wondered that even if Bart's heart _did_ recover, would it be weakened? Would his stamina be lessened and his body not be able to handle much exertion? That seemed a given for at least a short while, but the other question was his lungs; did inhaling so much chloroform cause damage to _them_? They'd been so worried about his heart that no one had thought of _that._

It was a surprise, then, when Bret looked at Bart and saw that his eyes were open…all the way. "Bart!" he exclaimed.

Beau, who'd been asleep, jumped and nearly fell off his chair.

Bart smiled at that and chuckled, before it turned into coughing.

Bret nearly panicked to hear Bart cough, fearing that it would jolt his heart and cause harm. He dropped the towel that he was using to wave oxygen at his brother, and grabbed the cup of water on the nightstand. "Don't cough, Bart!" he exclaimed, sliding his arm under his brother and holding the glass to his lips.

Laughing had been a foolish action, as it had required air that Bart didn't really have. He drank the water in sips until it was gone, before closing his eyes and trying to get his breath back.

Bret put the cup back on the nightstand and reclined his brother back against the pillows. He looked for the towel and found that Beau had taken over waving the oxygen at the youngest Maverick, and he took it back from him. When Bart reopened his eyes, Bret suddenly realized that his skin was no longer gray. It was still insanely pale, but not gray.

Bart smiled slightly. "Morning," he said, breathlessly.

Bret and Beau's smiles could've split their faces wide open. "Morning," they both replied.

"You look better," said Beau, reaching to take his cousin's wrist to check his pulse.

Bart nodded, closing his eyes tiredly. He felt lightheaded, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelmingly thick feeling that had clouded his brain before the chloroform had started to leave his bloodstream. "How long?" he weakly asked.

"This is day three," said Bret, nearly unable to contain his happiness. Bart was talking!

Beau had relief written on his face. "His pulse isn't as bad," he told Bret.

That was the best thing that Bret had ever heard. "How do you feel?" he asked his brother. "Is your chest still heavy?"

Bart reopened his eyes. "Not as…much."

Bret looked at Beau and smiled, before looking at Bart again. "Are you hungry? Don't answer that. You haven't eaten in three days; you're going to eat whether you're hungry or not."

Bart said nothing, not surprised. He blinked sleepily.

Bret watched his brother for a minute, able to see the difference in his breathing. He was so relieved that he couldn't even put it into words. He handed Beau the towel and reached over to feel Bart's pulse for himself; it was still uneven but more steady, with less pauses and skips than before. He transferred his grip to Bart's shoulder when his brother's eyes stayed closed. "Don't go back to sleep, Bart, you've been unconscious too much as it is."

Bart reopened his eyes halfway. His breathing was still fast, but definitely better than it had been. "Sorry," he said. Suddenly, it was as if he just remembered what happened, and his eyes opened a little more. "Clyde?"

"Dead," Beau answered. "He didn't seem to want to go to jail."

What had happened seemed obvious, and Bart didn't ask anymore questions, tiredly closing his eyes again.

Beau handed Bret the towel back. "I'll go get him something to eat before we lose him." He made a face, regretting his words the instant he said them. "I mean, before he falls back to sleep."

Bret nodded. "I'll keep him awake."

Beau nodded and left the room.

"Up and at 'em, Bart," said Bret, waving the oxygen into his face. "It's not time for sleeping."

Bart gave no reaction.

"Come on, Bart," said Bret. "If you don't open those eyes of yours, I'm gonna start singing, and we both know that you can sing a lot better than I can."

One corner of Bart's mouth turned up in a mini-grin.

"Okay," said Bret. "You asked for it." He took a deep breath.

"Awake!" said Bart, reopening his eyes. He was smiling. 

Bret chuckled. "Not in the mood for 'Oh My Darlin' Clementine'?"

Bart winced and dramatically shook his head. Suddenly, he smiled. "Neither was...the donkey."

Bret laughed. When they were children, they had a donkey that they'd affectionately named 'Astor'. One day, Bret had been loudly singing 'Clementine' outside, and the donkey had complained...just as loudly. Both brothers would never forget its nonstop 'HEE HAW HEE HAW'...the donkey was so loud that their father had come outside to see what they were doing to the poor thing.

Little Bart had answered, "Bret's singin' at 'im, papa!"

Their father had sighed, and answered, "Bret, we don't torture animals here." They'd all laughed about it for days.

Bart chuckled, before putting a hand on his chest when it didn't agree with his breathing.

Bret saw his brother's face get paler. "Hey," he said. "No laughing." He waved the towel harder.

Bart tried to slow his breathing down, even while still smiling at the memory. Suddenly, his eyes drooped closed.

"Hey," Bret said again, alarmed.

Bart half-opened his eyes.

"You all right?" Bret asked.

"Tired," Bart whispered, eyes closing again.

Just then, Beau came back in with a tray.

"Stay awake, Bart," said Bret. "Just long enough to eat something, all right?"

"Mmm," Bart mumbled, eyes still closed.

Beau hurried over to the bed and placed the tray on the nightstand. "Am I too late?"

"Nearly," Bret told him. He handed him the towel back and went over to the head of the bed. "I'm gonna sit you up higher, Bart."

Bart gave no reply.

Bret hesitated. He didn't want to startle his brother, with his heart being the way it currently was. "Bart," he said, lightly squeezing his arm. "Are you awake?"

"Mmm," he mumbled.

Bret was glad and slid an arm behind his brother, pulling him forward and standing the pillows up so that Bart was sitting completely upright.

Bart didn't react from the motion.

Bret then took Bart's wrist and checked his pulse, making sure that the movement didn't further stress his heart. It didn't seem any worse, and Bret sat on the side of the bed and took the tray, taking off the cover and finding a bowl of soup. It smelled delicious. "Here you go, brother Bart," Bret said. "One of your favorite things: soup."

Bart caught a whiff of the broth and opened his eyes slightly.

It was obvious that he wasn't strong enough—or awake enough—to feed himself, so Bret dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it up to his brother's lips. "Open wide," he said, wondering how Bart would react.

Bart obeyed without protest and swallowed it.

"Good?" Bret asked.

Bart nodded, eyes closed. He was half asleep.

Bret continued to feed Bart the soup, the situation bringing back memories of Bart as an unhealthy child, and he inwardly sighed. He lifted the spoon to his brother's lips again, but Bart was motionless, eyes closed.

"Brings back memories," Beau suddenly said, as he continued to wave the oxygen at Bart.

Bret looked at him with surprise. "You read my mind." He looked back to his brother, who was obviously asleep. "Bart?" he said.

No answer.

"Bart," Bret repeated. "You have to finish this."

Bart still didn't react.

Bret sighed. Bart had only eaten half of the soup. He went to put the bowl back on the tray, before changing his mind. Bart hadn't eaten since before he'd been abducted, and that had been three days ago. He needed to eat if he was to regain any strength, especially if he was about to sleep for another full day. He squeezed his brother's arm again. "Bart, wake up."

This time, Bart made a soft noise.

Placing the bowl on the nightstand, Bret took his brother's pale face in his hands. "Bart, you can sleep all you want after you finish this soup. Come on."

Bart blearily opened his eyes halfway. He looked confused.

Bret quickly grabbed the bowl and brought the spoon to his brother's lips. "Eat."

Bart obeyed.

Bret fed him the rest as fast as possible, before Bart could fall asleep again. He actually succeeded in getting it all into him, and he knew it was because Bart wasn't aware enough to realize whether he was full or not.

Bart was asleep again before Bret even put the empty bowl back on the tray.

Beau watched as Bret leaned Bart against himself so he could fix the pillows, before he gently lowered his brother back to his original half-reclined position. "That's an improvement," he remarked.

Bret looked at him.

"Today, his pulse and breathing aren't as bad, he was awake, he _talked_ , and he ate," said Beau. "He's getting better."

Bret nodded; everything that Beau said was true. _Your brother will be fine,_ the reverend had said. Was it possible that Bart would fully recover with no lasting damage? After seeing Bart's improved condition today, Bret had hope.

TBC


	7. The Next Step

The morning of Bart's fourth day in the hospital dawned with heavy rain falling. Thunder eventually started to rumble, and each time it did, it grew louder as the storm came closer.

"That's the last thing he needs," Bret remarked, not liking the notion of Bart being startled awake by the noise.

"Maybe we should wake him up before the storm does," said Beau.

Bret nodded, seeing the sense in it. He felt his brother's pulse and couldn't stop his sigh of relief when there were no more lengthy pauses. His heart's rhythm was still stuttery and throwing extra beats, but it was steadier and not as weak. He transferred his grip to Bart's shoulder just as thunder rumbled again. "Bart," he said. "Wake up."

Bart immediately went, "Mmm?" surprising them. It looked like he was already awake, to some degree, at least.

"You might wanna finish waking up, Bart," said Bret. "There's a storm out there."

"Storm?" Bart echoed.

Bret nodded. "Yep."

"So?" Bart's eyes were still closed and he sounded mumbly.

"So I don't want you to jump sky-high when thunder rolls in again," said Bret, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "It's not good for your heart."

"Oh," Bart said. He opened his eyes, giving them both a sleepy smile. "Mornin'."

"Mornin'," they both replied, returning his smile.

Suddenly, thunder sounded overhead; an earsplitting crack rather than a dull rumble that made all three of them jump. The entire hospital shook.

Bret tightened the grip on his brother's shoulder and placed his fingers on the pulse on Bart's wrist, just in time to feel two extra beats. "You all right?"

Bart nodded, breathing faster. "Glad I...was awake."

Bret nodded. Even a healthy person would've been scared to death if they'd been woken by that. He waited for his brother to recover from being startled, before asking, "Is it any easier for you to breathe?"

Bart nodded. That first day, it'd been so hard to breathe that he'd been sure that he was dying.

Bret and Beau both smiled.

"You scared us to death," Beau told him.

"Sorry," said Bart.

Bret shook his head. "Not your fault, brother Bart."

"Scared myself," Bart told them.

Bret sighed. "I'm sure. Now before you fall asleep again, you're going to eat."

For the first time in four days, Bart felt hungry. "Okay."

Beau quickly stood, glad that he'd agreed so easily. "I'll be right back," he said, handing Bret the towel and dashing for the door.

Bret took over waving the oxygen at Bart before saying, "Beau's words were an understatement."

Bart nodded, understanding how his brother felt without him having to say it.

They were both quiet for a moment after that, as they both realized that Bart still might not be out of the woods as far as lasting effects were concerned.

Thunder cracked overhead again, and the rain seemed to grow even heavier.

"How long?" Bart asked, not sure how much time had passed.

"Four days," Bret told him.

Bart was surprised. Time sure was passing fast for him...but he knew that it must be torture for his brother and cousin.

Beau came back a minute later. "Perfect timing," he said. "The hospital cook had just finished making these when I got there." He placed a tray on Bart's lap and took off the cover to reveal a plate of scrambled eggs.

Bret was glad to see that their cousin had brought him something more substantial than soup. He handed Beau the towel, helped his brother sit up, and sat on Bart's bed, reaching for the plate.

"Can do it," Bart unexpectedly said.

Bret's eyebrows shot up and he placed the tray on Bart's lap, watching as Bart took the spoon—another good idea, Beau!—scooped some up, and ate it.

"Needs salt," Bart remarked.

The sight of Bart awake, talking, breathing, feeding himself, and actually joking overwhelmed Bret, and he laughed harder than was perhaps necessary.

Beau laughed too, but he sensed his cousin's fragile state of mind and put a steadying hand on Bret's shoulder as he walked forward and took something out of his pocket. "I figured you'd say that." He held up a saltshaker.

Bret nearly lost it again, but he controlled himself and took it, shaking it over his brother's food. "Better?"

Bart took another bite and nodded. "Thanks," he said with a smile.

Bret smiled back, especially when he realized that there was no more gray tinge to his brother's skin.

Everyone was quiet as they watched Bart eat. Still very weak, he ate slowly, but he ate it all. He was tired-out afterwards, and was asleep again nearly before Bret had finished lying him back down.

Bret sat back in his chair with a sigh, staring at his brother as his emotions again tried to rise to the surface. "Beau..." he said, his voice catching as he tried to express his relief.

Beau squeezed his shoulder again, and his voice was full of the same emotion when he said, "I know."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rain continued on and off all day, but the thunder eventually stopped. Bart slept until early afternoon, and when he woke they made him eat again. After that, the doctor came in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Bart.

"Much better," Bart answered. It was true; no longer was he struggling to breathe.

The doctor checked his pulse and listened to Bart's heartbeat and lungs before telling Beau to stop with the oxygen.

Beau hesitated, but obeyed.

They all watched Bart, who was still breathing faster than normal.

"Is it harder to breathe?" the doctor asked.

It was, but Bart didn't want to tell them that, and waited a few seconds before answering. "Air seems thicker."

"Never expected to hear someone say that in Denver," the doctor remarked.

Everyone smiled at the quip, but they couldn't laugh at such a serious matter.

The doctor looked at Bret and Beau. "Don't give him anymore oxygen; the next step is seeing if he can do without it."

Neither Bret nor Beau liked the sound of that, but they reluctantly nodded.

The doctor studied Bart further, relieved to see that the gray tinge to his skin was gone. "I can't deny that you're definitely recovering," he said. "When they brought you in here that day, I didn't expect you to last the night."

Bart looked at his brother and cousin, imagining their fear.

"Do you think he'll fully recover?" Beau asked.

The doctor picked up Bart's wrist again to check his pulse. The rhythm was steady now, despite the extra beats that it still threw in here and there. "It's possible," he said. "But you can't go right back to how you were," he said to Bart. "This is very serious; you need to take it easy for a long time, to ensure that your heart has as much recovery time as possible. It won't be able to handle much exertion, especially at first. You won't be able to walk far, and don't even _think_ about running. Anything that stresses your heart is an absolute _no._ " He turned to look at Bret and Beau. "I don't know where you all live, but wherever you take him, he should see a doctor regularly until he's told that he no longer needs to."

Bret and Beau nodded somberly.

The doctor looked at Bart again. "Don't ever forget about this, either. That goes for you too," he said, glancing at the others. "If there _is_ permanent damage, it may not show up until some day in the future. Even if you think you're perfectly fine, you should see a doctor at least once a year just to check your heart."

Bart nodded, looking nervous at the doctor's words.

Bret and Beau were nervous too. They never thought about what could show up in the future.

The doctor noticed Bart's pulse speed up and throw another extra beat. He put his patient's arm back down to the bed and patted it. "Now now, I don't mean to scare you; you may fully recover with no lasting damage, but I need to convince you of the seriousness of this so that you'll do what it takes to keep your heart strong."

Bart nodded. He tried to take a deep breath when his lungs felt constricted, trying not to make it obvious.

The doctor patted his arm again. "You're young and otherwise healthy, so just rest and do what I said, and I'm sure you'll be fine." He stood and looked at the others. "Remember, don't give him the oxygen; we need to see if he can do without it."

Bret and Beau both nodded.

"I'll be back to check on him," the doctor said, and left.

Bret sat on the bed and studied his brother, able to immediately see that he wasn't breathing as 'well' as he did with the oxygen. "You all right?"

Bart silently nodded.

"No you aren't," said Beau. "And we don't blame you; what the doctor said was frightening."

"But he said that Bart will probably be fine," Bret said to Beau. He was just as afraid as they were, but he wanted to alleviate his brother's fear as much as he could. "He _had_ to say those things, Bart, you're not recovered yet and need to take it easy."

"Wanna get up," was Bart's contradictory response.

"Get up?" said Beau, incredulous.

Bret shook his head. "Sorry Bart, that's not happening; not until the doctor says so. We don't know how your heart would react."

Bart sighed, which wasn't easy with the abrupt decrease of oxygen. It made him feel dizzy and he coughed.

Bret, still sitting on the bed, put a hand on Bart's arm. "You all right?"

Bart nodded, trying to take a deep breath. He succeeded on the second try.

Bret and Beau were both relieved.

The doctor came back twenty minutes later, and was pleased to see that Bart was doing all right—considering—without the oxygen. "Only give it to him if he needs it," said the doctor.

"He looks like he needs it to _me_ ," Beau said, before Bret had a chance to say the same thing.

"When he leaves this hospital, he'll no longer have it," said the doctor. "He needs to get used to breathing without it."

The other two Mavericks didn't like the notion, but Bart wasn't feeling as badly as they apparently thought. He was still breathing faster than normal, but he could finally take deeper breaths today for the first time in nearly a week. He was surprised that he could do that without the oxygen, and wondered if he'd no longer needed as much before now but they hadn't realized it.

For the rest of the day, Bret and Beau watched Bart like a hawk, alert for any sign that he needed the oxygen. Bart made sure to stay as still as possible, not _wanting_ to need it. He did fine, until Beau went to get supper from the hotel rather than the hospital kitchen and when he came in, he tripped on something invisible and Bart started to laugh.

Beau didn't fall and managed to hold onto the basket of food.

Bret laughed too, until he looked at his brother, whose laugh turned into coughing. He jumped up and opened the oxygen bucket, quickly waving it at his brother.

Bart hadn't thought of the consequences of laughing. It immediately grew harder to breathe, but it wasn't bad enough to justify the panic on his brother and cousin's faces. "I'm...fine..." he said in between the coughs.

Bret wasn't sure whether to believe him.

It took longer for Bart to catch his breath this time, and his lungs wwre feeling heavy again. He said nothing, though. If he could convince the doctor that he was doing well, maybe he'd let him get out of bed tomorrow. He began to wonder how much longer he was going to be stuck in the hospital.

The evening dragged on, and Bart eventually fell asleep.

Bret and Beau planned to take turns sleeping, but Bret found it impossible to sleep himself, afraid that Bart would need the oxygen overnight. He stared at his brother, his eyes never leaving him for an instant as he watched every twitch, every frown, every slight movement. It was around four in the morning when he saw his brother's breathing speed up in apparent response to a dream. Bart made a soft noise and moved his head, appearing distressed.

Bret grabbed the oxygen, and Beau suddenly woke.

"What's wrong?" Beau whispered.

"I think he's having a nightmare," Bret whispered back, handing him the towel.

Beau took it and stood, waving the oxygen at Bart.

Bret gently took Bart's wrist and felt his pulse. His heartbeat was faster with more extra beats.

"Should we wake him up?" Beau asked, as Bart moved his head and made another noise, breathing heavily.

Bret sighed. "I don't know…it might startle him too much."

"Well which is better, being startled or suffering whatever frightful thing is going on in his mind?" Beau asked.

Bret wasn't sure.

They didn't have to decide, as Bart suddenly stilled and his breathing started to slow down as his nightmare apparently ended.

Both Mavericks were relieved, and Beau kept up with the oxygen until Bart's breathing returned to normal—or rather, Bart's current version of 'normal'—and Bret laid his brother's arm back to the bed once his pulse evened out.

Neither of them went back to sleep after that, as they both wondered what lay in store for Bart in the near future. Would he completely recover? Would he?

TBC


	8. Progress

Luckily, the youngest Maverick slept for the rest of the night without trouble, and woke on his fifth day in the hospital vowing to himself that he was going to get out of bed that day no matter what anyone said.

Bret saw something in his brother's face that hadn't been there the day before. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Bart nodded. "I'm getting up today."

Bret said nothing at first. It was the strongest that Bart had sounded all week, and he knew how much Bart hated lying in bed for so long. "I'm not sure about that," he said, picking up Bart's wrist to feel his pulse.

"I am," Bart replied.

Bart's pulse wasn't bad, giving only one extra beat after ten seconds. Bret couldn't help but smile.

Bart smiled back.

"Not until we ask the doctor," said Bret, putting his arm back down. "We're talking about your _heart_ , for goodness sake."

Bart nodded. He understood, even though he was itching to get up.

Bret studied him for a minute. Bart seemed to be breathing normally, finally, and he suddenly got eager to see what would happen when Bart _did_ get up. Was it possible that he was fine? An extra heartbeat every once in a while didn't seem like enough to cause harm.

Beau came in a few minutes later with breakfast and they all ate. Both Bret and Beau stared at Bart the whole time, glad to see that he no longer seemed exhausted. In actuality, he looked nearly normal.

Less than an hour later, the doctor came in and was pleased to see the state of his patient.

"I wanna get up," Bart said, after the doctor finished listening to his heart and lungs.

The doctor was hesitant. "After five days, I would assume that most—if not all—of the chloroform is out of your blood, but I think you still need to rest. The effect it had on your heart and lungs was severe."

Bart sighed before catching himself. It made him slightly dizzy, but he didn't show it. "Please?" he said, resorting to begging. "I can rest in a chair."

The doctor noticed that he spoke a whole sentence without losing his breath, so he reconsidered. "Fine...we'll try getting you to a chair."

Bart's eyebrows shot up, having expected him to refuse.

Bret and Beau both stood as the doctor went to fetch a robe and slippers from the closet.

Bart was already reclined sitting up, and he pushed the covers back when the doctor returned.

Bret helped his brother with the robe and slippers, and he and Beau both held onto him as Bart stood up. They had to tighten their grip when dizziness struck him, and though it was expected, it made both of them nervous.

Bart blinked his eyes against his swirling vision. His heartbeat and breathing sped up, and he failed in trying not to show it. Whatever strength he'd been regaining seemed to instantly desert him and he swayed.

The doctor was suddenly in front of him, placing his fingers to the pulse in his neck. "Keep him standing," he said to the other two Mavericks when they moved to sit him back down.

They nervously obeyed.

Bart closed his eyes, fighting to control his breathing. He could feel his heart beating faster.

"Put him in the chair," the doctor said.

Bret and Beau quickly obeyed, practically dragging him over and gently lowering him into it. Bret made sure that Beau didn't let go of Bart before he grabbed the bucket of oxygen.

Feeling faint, Bart slumped there bonelessly, catching his breath while his cousin held onto him and the doctor took his wrist to feel his pulse.

"Doc?" said Bret, sounding scared as he waved the oxygen at his brother.

"He'll be all right in a minute," the doctor said.

Everyone watched Bart as his breathing slowed down. The doctor eventually let go of his patient's wrist. "That wasn't as bad as it could've been."

Bret and Beau looked at the doctor as if he was insane. "What?" they both said.

"This is the first time he's been up in five days, after suffering what was essentially an injury to his heart," said the doctor. "This was bound to happen. His heartbeat was fast and doing extra beats, but the rhythm didn't revert back to that spastic pattern."

No one was more relieved than Bart to hear that.

"That's why I didn't let you sit him back down," said the doctor. "I needed to know if remaining upright would make it worse."

Bret nodded, still waving the oxygen.

"Can you do without that?" the doctor asked Bart, pointing at it.

Bart's breathing was still fast, but he sensed that the doctor wanted him to say 'yes', so he nodded.

Bret reluctantly put it away, remembering the doctor's words that Bart needed to get used to breathing without it.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked Bart.

Bart slowly took a deep breath. It didn't quite go all the way down. "Shaky," he admitted.

The doctor nodded. "No doubt." He grabbed the other chair and brought it over, placing it in front of Bart and lifting his legs up on it before grabbing the blanket off the bed and covering him with it.

Bret grabbed a pillow and put it behind Bart's back and head.

"Now I don't want you to get up," the doctor told him. "Unless I'm here." He looked at Bret and Beau. "If he wants to go back to bed, have someone fetch me first. I need to see what happens when he gets up again."

They both nodded.

The doctor patted Bart's shoulder. "I'll be back," he said, before leaving.

Bret and Beau stared at Bart, silently. Bart knew that they were looking for any sign that he needed the oxygen again. He fought the urge to say 'boo!

At the same time, as if they planned it, Bret and Beau both reached out and grabbed one of Bart's wrists to feel his pulse for themselves.

Bart nearly sighed, but caught himself. "I'm all right."

Both of the other Mavericks were relieved to see that his pulse was normal but for a couple of extra beats, and they let him have his arms back.

"I thought..." Bret said, before stopping, as if he hadn't meant to speak.

Bart knew what the rest of the words were going to be. "I'm not gonna die," he said. He thought to how scared Bret and Beau must've been, probably thinking that he was going to drop dead right there. "Sorry," he said.

They both made a face at him, since they didn't know what he was thinking. All they knew was that 'sorry' shouldn't come after 'I'm not gonna die'.

It took Bart a second to understand the reason for their expressions, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Sorry for scaring you. I want out."

"I'm sure," said Bret. "Five days in here is a long time."

"But if you go too fast, cousin, you'll only lengthen your stay," Beau told him.

Bart nodded. He sure didn't want to do that.

"So was it worth getting up?" Bret asked.

That was debatable. Bart wasn't sure how to answer that, but he nodded anyway.

"Comfortable?" Beau asked.

Bart hesitated. "Um," he said.

Like a shot, both Bret and Beau stood and helped him shift his position.

"Better?" Bret asked, tucking the blanket around him.

"Much," Bart said. "Just one thing?"

"Yes?" they both said.

"Carry everything to the window?" he said, indicating himself and the chairs.

Bret and Beau both laughed.

Bart stayed in the chair for as long as he could, enjoying the chance to be out of bed for the first time in five days. When the doctor came back and found him still in it, he was relieved that the other two Mavericks hadn't disobeyed him and put him back to bed themselves. "How are you feeling?" the doctor asked, taking his wrist to check his pulse.

"Fine," Bart said.

"No problems?" the doctor asked the other two.

They both shook their heads. "At least, none that he told us about," said Bret.

The doctor felt nothing amiss with Bart's pulse but the same stubborn extra beats. "Ready to get back in bed?" he asked.

Bart enjoyed being out of it, but the hard chair wasn't as comfortable as the mattress, so he nodded.

The doctor removed the blanket and lifted Bart's legs off the other chair, and Bret and Beau got on either side of him, gently helping him stand.

Bart's breathing increased when his heartbeat did, but it wasn't as overwhelming as it had been the first time. He felt their grips on his arms tighten as they held him up.

The doctor felt the pulse in his wrist again, feeling no issues other than a couple of extra beats. "Walk him to the bed, slowly."

They obeyed, moving forward with Bart as he took each shaky step. He did all right with their help, and a moment later was back in bed, his breathing fast, but controlled.

Bret and Beau couldn't conceal their relief.

The doctor kept his fingers on Bart's pulse, before nodding and letting go. "Much better," he said. "Aside from the expected extra beats, your pulse was fine."

"Are those extra beats dangerous?" said Bret. "Will his heart stop doing that?"

"Hard to say," said the doctor. "There are plenty of people whose hearts have done that all their lives and they're fine, but since his is doing it because of exposure to a harmful drug, it's not something that we can just ignore."

Bart didn't want to hear that.

"It _could_ go away," said the doctor. "Especially since most of it already has. You both felt how his pulse was the first day…it's nothing like that now. For all we know, the extra beats could disappear in the next few days."

All three Mavericks certainly hoped so.

Bart suddenly gave a little cough, still catching his breath.

Bret poured him a glass of water and handed it to him, taking the glass back when he was finished. "You all right?" he asked.

Bart succeeded in taking a deeper breath, and nodded with a smile. Considering the seriousness of his situation, he was satisfied with the progress that he'd made that day. If he was lucky, maybe he'd be out of the hospital by the weekend…

TBC


	9. Maverick Stubborness

The night passed quickly with Bart sleeping well, much of his anxiety having left the previous evening when his heart had successfully handled getting out of bed and then back into it. He woke the next day to Bret taking his pulse…and there was a smile on his face.

"Bret?" Bart asked, a little groggily.

"There's been no extra beat for two whole minutes," said Bret.

That statement woke Bart all the way. "Really?"

Bret nodded.

They were quiet as Bret continued to monitor his pulse, and just after the three minute mark passed, Bret opened his mouth to announce it, but an extra beat cut him off. He shrugged and let go of Bart's wrist. "Took three minutes."

Bart smiled at that. Three minutes for anything would seem insignificant to anyone else, but for it to take that 'long' before his heart did an extra beat, it was wonderful.

A sudden snore filled the air, and they looked at Beau, asleep in a chair.

"Am I the only one of us who doesn't snore?" Bart asked.

Bret smiled ear to ear. That was the longest sentence that Bart had spoken since this whole terrible thing began. "Guess so, brother Bart."

Bart smiled. "Today's Thursday?"

Bret thought for a minute before nodding. "Why?"

"Tomorrow makes it a week," said Bart.

Bret nodded with a sigh. "It sure does."

"I want out," said Bart.

"I know," Bret said. "Soon."

Beau snored again.

"Hungry?" Bret asked his brother.

Bart wanted to regain his strength as fast as possible, so even if he wasn't, he was going to answer 'yes' anyway. He nodded.

Bret looked at Beau before looking back at Bart. He seemed to be unsure of something.

"Go," Bart said. "I'll be fine."

Bret didn't like the idea of leaving him 'alone' considering that Beau was fast asleep.

"If I need help—which I won't—I'll wake him," Bart said.

Bret still didn't want to leave.

"Go," said Bart. "I'm hungry."

Bret reluctantly stood, before looking at Beau again and nodding at Bart. "I'll hurry."

"No need," said Bart, knowing full well that Bret had not left the room for a single minute since they'd arrive at the hospital six days ago.

Bret nodded and quickly left the room.

Bart watched Beau as he slept slumped in the chair with his feet up on the bed. He snored again a minute later.

Bart spent the time looking out the window, which was altogether too far away from the bed. He hoped that he could get the doctor to move the chair over there and let him sit in it today; he needed some kind of scenery that wasn't the inside of a hospital room.

True to his word, Bret was back in record time, relieved to find Bart just as he'd left him. He gave him his breakfast and sat down to eat his own, leaving Beau's on the nightstand. Naturally, Beau woke a few minutes later from the smell of the food. He was thrilled to hear the report about Bart's pulse, and they all happily ate.

The doctor came in and was also glad at the news. "It appears that your heart may fully recover after all," he said.

A weight seemed to lift from all of their shoulders, especially Bart's. "Can I sit at the window?" he asked.

The doctor turned to gauge the distance that Bart would have to walk. He nodded. "Before you do, there are more comfortable chairs in the doctor's lounge." He stood and motioned for Beau to follow him.

Ten minutes later, they came back carrying a cushioned chair that was much easier to stay in, since the doctor knew that Bart was likely to spend hours in it. They placed it beside the window, and the doctor took a small ottoman off it and placed it on the floor. "This chair should be much better," he said.

With that, Bret and Beau helped Bart up and waited until he started to walk. Bart was still weak but seemed stronger than the previous day, and he made it to the chair with their help and sat in it with relief. His breathing was faster, as was his pulse, but it wasn't debilitating and he was able to handle it. The chair was soft and comfortable. "Thank you," Bart said to the doctor.

The doctor nodded. "Anytime."

Bart spent most of the day in the chair. It was comfortable, and a huge relief to be able to stay out of bed. After lunch, the doctor came back, and Bart's first words to him were, "When can I leave?"

The doctor chuckled. "You've make excellent progress, young man, but I don't think that's a question for today. We have to get you walking further than ten feet."

"I can do that," said Bart.

"Maybe so," said the doctor. "But not today. You've only been out of bed twice in six days!"

Bart made a disappointed face.

Beau reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Remember what I said about going too fast, Bart. You don't want to live to regret it."

"I want out," Bart said, once again.

"We know," said Bret. "But your body has to be as ready as your mind."

Bart sighed.

"Maybe I'll let you walk a bit tomorrow," said the doctor. "We'll see how you do."

"How about later tonight?" Bart persisted.

The doctor chuckled again. "We'll see."

That evening, when Beau went to fetch supper, Bart suddenly found himself 'alone'. He wasn't _literally_ alone, but Bret had dozed off—as neither his brother nor his cousin had slept a full night since he'd ended up in the hospital—so Bart decided to do something very, _very_ foolish.

Quietly, so as not to wake Bret, Bart slowly stood from his chair, holding onto it and taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to keep his heart calm. When his breathing and heartbeat didn't increase _too_ much, he let go of the chair and just stood there, making sure that he had the strength to do this alone; it wouldn't do for him to take one step and fall to the floor. If he didn't think he could do it, then he was better off sitting back down, and no one would ever know.

But Bart was sure that he could do it.

He knew that the impatient need to get out of the hospital was fueling his current stupidity—as it couldn't be called anything else—and he took a slow step, aware that neither his brother nor his cousin were beside him to help. His legs held him up, and he took another successful step before stopping, making sure that he still had the strength to continue on his own. He didn't fall and he didn't feel faint—though he _did_ feel a little lightheaded—so he took another step.

Bart was very aware of his faster heartbeat, and he felt the extra beat that his heart betrayed him with. He stopped again and tried to take a deep breath, but it didn't quite go down all the way. He wasn't having _serious_ trouble breathing, but it was frustrating to endure. He was too young to have a problem with his heart! He wanted to go back to the way he was!

With that thought, Bart took another step, and another. He felt himself growing weaker, but he didn't care. Beyond that, his breathing and heartbeat weren't bad enough to stop him, so he slowly continued on…until he couldn't.

Suddenly, Bart's body decided that it'd had enough, and on his seventh step, he lost his balance and fell backwards—right into someone's arms.

It was Bret.

"You fool!" he exclaimed, swinging his surprised brother into his arms and carrying him over to the bed.

Bart had no time to reply before he was placed back onto the mattress and his wrist was seized by his brother.

Bret said nothing else for a moment as he checked Bart's pulse. It was faster and gave the expected extra beats, but nothing else. He let go of Bart's wrist and looked at his brother, with a deep sigh.

Bart was breathing faster than normal, but not dangerously so. "Where'd you come from?" he asked.

"I woke up," said Bret. "When I saw what you were doing, I came this close to shouting at you," he said, lifting his hand to show his thumb and finger half an inch apart. "But then I realized that you would be startled, and I didn't want it to affect your heart or make you fall, so instead, I got up and reached you just before you tipped over."

Bart smiled slightly. "Good timing."

Bret shook his head. "But how could you do something so stupid?"

"I want out," Bart said, for the fourth or fifth time.

"I know, and I don't blame you," said Bret. "But that was _really_ stupid!"

"I needed to know if I could," Bart told him.

Bret sighed again. He understood that too.

Suddenly, the door opened and Beau came inside with a tray. He stopped, sensing that something had happened. "What'd I miss?" he asked.

"The 'Maverick Stubbornness'," Bret replied. "Bart decided to go on a little trek without us."

Beau's eyebrows shot up and he headed over, placing the tray on the nightstand and taking the dishes off it, handing them out. "And?"

"I managed seven whole steps," said Bart, disappointingly.

"He's lucky I was there to catch him," said Bret.

"And his heart?" Beau asked Bret.

"Not bad," Bret answered. "Extra beats, as usual."

Beau sighed, but then his face brightened. "Well, cousin Bart, this is _good_ news. You didn't walk very far, but where you _did_ get, you got on your own, and are none the worse for wear!"

Bart smiled at his cousin's optimism.

Beau handed out the coffee cups and raised his. "To getting Bart out of the hospital!"

They clicked their cups together, and replied, "Here, here!"

TBC


	10. I Want Out

The doctor was shocked later when they told him what Bart had done, but at the same time, he wasn't surprised. He shook his head with a sigh. "I won't yell at you, since I'm sure that someone else already has, but you really should not have tried that."

"But I did it," said Bart. "Didn't get very far, but I did it."

"Yes," said the doctor. "But you're lucky that your heart _let_ you."

"I'm ready to try again," said Bart.

The doctor blinked.

"He wants out," Bret and Beau both said in unison, before Bart could say it yet again.

"I'm very aware of that," said the doctor. He shook his head. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're stubborn?"

Bart smiled.

Beau laughed. "It's a family trait."

"I'm sure it is," the doctor replied.

Considering that Bart's heart hadn't appeared to suffer any ill effects, the doctor did let him try again, but he made him wait a couple more hours. When he finally let Bart get up, Bret and Beau again held onto him and helped him slowly walk. It went well, but it wasn't good enough for Bart.

"Let go," he eventually said.

"Let go?" Beau echoed.

"Let go," Bart repeated.

"Let go?" said Bret.

Bart tried not to sigh, needing to not waste breath. "Let. Go. Both of you."

Beau shot Bret a look. At Bret's nod, he released the hold that he had on his cousin, but Bret held on.

"That means you, Bret," said Bart, trying to sound as strong as possible.

The doctor had his fingers on Bart's wrist and felt nothing more than the usual extra beat here and there, so he nodded at Bret and let go himself. With all three of them there, he knew that there was no chance of Bart hitting the floor if he fell.

Bret reluctantly let go, slowly, his hand hovering near his brother's arm.

Bart took a few more steps, but his breathing started to get harder. He should've taken that as the cue to stop, but he didn't.

All three of them noticed, but before they could say anything, Bart listed to one side and Bret grabbed him.

"I'm fine," Bart said, breathlessly. "Wait."

Bret tightened the hold around his brother's back and sighed, waiting for Bart to be ready to walk again...back to the bed.

Bart suddenly laid his head on his brother's shoulder, his body sagging a little.

Bret was alarmed. "Bart," he said.

Bart raised his head slightly. "Sorry. Tired."

Bret picked him up again, not wanting to stress Bart's heart or lungs by making him walk back if he was unable.

Once Bart felt the mattress under him, he reopened his eyes and tried to look more alive, not wanting the doctor to stop letting him get up.

The doctor was checking his pulse again. "You didn't do too bad," he said to Bart. "At least we know your limit."

"Yeah," said Bret. "It was a minute _before_ he stopped."

"Water?" Bart asked.

Bret quickly poured it for him and helped him drink it.

Still breathing fast, Bart closed his eyes and was asleep a minute later. No one seemed surprised at that.

"Did he do himself any harm?" Bret whispered to the doctor.

The doctor still had his fingers on his patient's pulse. "Didn't seem to. His heart is stubbornly holding on to the extra beats, but that's all."

Bret and Beau both sighed.

Bart slept for the rest of the evening and into the night, completely worn out. He didn't wake up at all, and when morning came, he awoke confused.

Bret smiled at him. "About time you woke up, sleepyhead."

Bart frowned. "Where did the night go?"

"It came and went without you," Bret replied. "How do you feel?"

Bart thought for a minute. He didn't feel too bad, actually. "Better than I've felt in days. Today makes it a week?"

Bret nodded.

With that, Bart threw the covers back and moved to the side of the bed.

Bret grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Practicing," said Bart. "There's no way I'm still gonna be in this hospital come Monday." He stood up.

Bret said nothing, to Bart's surprise, and Bart started to slowly walk.

Bret kept one hand under his brother's arm and gripped Bart's wrist in his other hand, his eyebrows rising when Bart's heart gave only one extra beat. He could see that his brother was stronger...apparently the eleven-hour sleep had done him a world of good.

Bart's breathing increased, but it was tolerable. He was surprised when his brother suddenly pulled him to a halt, and looked at him. "What?" he asked.

"We don't want a repeat of last night," Bret said. "That's far enough."

Bart wanted to protest, but didn't.

"Can you stand by yourself if I let go for a minute?" Bret asked.

Bart nodded.

Bret dashed over to the chair beside the bed and grabbed it, bringing it to where his brother stood. "Sit down, you can walk back in a minute."

Bart obeyed.

Bret looked down at him. "Feel all right?"

Bart was still breathing fast, but nodded.

Bret took his wrist again, smiling when he felt no extra beats. His smile faded a little as he watched his brother. If Bart's heart was reasonably okay, then why the continued difficulty breathing?

Beau came into the room just then, frowning when he saw no one in the bed. He turned his head and spotted his cousins, quickly heading over. "New accommodations?" he quipped.

"He wanted some exercise," said Bret. "But I didn't want him to have it all at once." 

Beau nodded. "I moved you and I into Bret's hotel room," he told Bart. "None of us realized all this time that we were paying for three rooms for nothing."

"Oh," said Bart. The thought had never crossed his mind.

Beau looked at Bret. "So how'd he do?"

"Pretty good, only felt one extra beat."

Beau smiled. "That's marvelous!"

Bart smiled back. "Out by Monday," he said.

Bret and Beau liked the sound of that just as much as Bart did. They both noticed though that he was still breathing fast and looked pale.

On impulse, Bret put a hand on his brother's forehead to check for fever.

Bart frowned and flinched. "What you doing?"

Bret lowered his hand; Bart's skin wasn't warm. "You don't look right." He also noticed that Bart's sentences were missing words, as if Bart wanted to speak as little as possible.

Bart shook his head. "I'm fine." In truth, it was taking longer than expected to catch his breath, and he felt a little lightheaded.

"Maybe he just needs to eat," said Beau, trying to lighten the mood. "I'll go get us a feast fit for a king!"

"I want coffee," said Bart. It was something that they hadn't let him have all week and he was sick of being denied it.

Bret shook his head. "Caffeine isn't good for you right now, Bart."

Bart sighed without thinking, and coughed.

Beau hurried over to the nightstand beside the bed and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher, quickly bringing it back.

Bart drank it gratefully.

"You all right?" Bret nervously asked.

"I'm fine," Bart told him again. He was still breathing too fast, and it was annoying him.

Bret took Bart's wrist and felt his pulse. "No extra beats," he reported.

Beau smiled at that. "I'll fetch breakfast," he said again, before leaving.

Bret crouched before his brother, staring at him. "Do you really feel all right, or is something wrong that you aren't telling us?"

Bart shook his head. "Nothing."

"Then why can't you catch your breath?" asked Bret.

Bart bit back the retort: _because a bottle of chloroform nearly killed me?_ "I dunno," he said.

Bret looked behind himself to see how far away the bed was. "You should lie down." He stood and reached down to pick his brother up off the chair.

"I can walk," Bart protested.

Bret shook his head. "I don't think that's wise."

"Let me try," Bart said.

"But—" Bret cut himself off and shook his head; arguing was a waste of time. He helped his brother stand, knowing that all he had to do was scoop him up the instant he thought it necessary. He wrapped an arm around Bart's back and held onto him tightly.

Bart slowly started to walk, trying to control his breathing. It became harder anyway, but he fought not to show it.

They made it to the bed, which Bret hadn't expected to happen. He carefully sat his brother down and arranged the pillows so Bart could sit up, before helping him recline against them.

As soon as Bart was back in the bed, he closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath—and failed.

Bret realized that Bart had managed to hide his difficulty breathing on the walk back to the bed, and he made an exasperated sound. He felt his brother's pulse and found it faster, but thankfully not doing any extra beats. "You heart is all right, but something is still wrong with you," he said.

It was a few seconds before Bart could answer. "I'm fine?"

Bret rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

A little while later, Beau came back with breakfast and they ate. The empty plates were back on the tray before Bart started to regain any breath.

When the doctor came to see him, Bret told him what had happened.

"Hmm," the doctor said. "The chloroform didn't only affect his heart, but his lungs, too. They apparently need more healing time than his heart did."

Bart shook his head. "I want out," he said, predictably.

The doctor sighed. "Look at how well you are compared to a week ago. You just need to wait a little longer."

Bart shook his head again. He wanted out _now_! Today was Friday…Bart made a vow to himself that he was leaving on Sunday, no matter what the doctor said.

TBC


	11. Desperate

Bart continued to get up and walk throughout the day, despite his breathlessness. He was still stronger than he'd been in a week, and reasoned that his lungs needed the exercise in order to strengthen back to how they used to be. The doctor partly agreed with that, as they definitely needed restrengthening, but he still needed to continue reminding Bart that his lungs needed to recover _before_ they could strengthen.

But Bart was stubborn.

"You're making yourself worse," Bret said to him as he held his brother down, preventing him from getting up later that night. "You haven't caught your breath from the _last_ time."

"My heart is fine," Bart told him. "It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," said Bret. "Your heart may be fine, but your lungs aren't. And who says that your heart is fine? Just because it's not beating wrong right now doesn't mean that it doesn't when we aren't checking it."

Bart blinked.

Bret sighed. It was something that he'd wondered about, but it was also something that he hadn't wanted to say, knowing that it would distress his brother.

Bart said nothing, but his body relaxed and he stopped fighting his brother's hold.

Bret let go. "I'm sorry, Bart. I just don't want you to overdo it." _I don't want you to accidentally kill yourself,_ he left unsaid.

Bart remained quiet for a minute as if knowing his brother's thoughts, before saying yet again, "I want out!" He sounded desperate.

"I know," said Bret. "But it's getting late; can't you just give yourself a rest and wait until tomorrow to get up again? Please?" He smiled slightly. "If you keep this up, you're gonna give _me_ heart trouble."

Bart smiled slightly too. "Fine," he said. He shimmied down his bed a little so he was laying flatter. "Goodnight."

Bret patted his arm. "Goodnight." He watched his brother as he fell asleep, which happened fast enough for Bret to know that Bart had exhausted himself. With a sigh, Bret eventually got up and stood at the window, looking out at the darkened night. He understood Bart's desperation to get out of the hospital, and hoped with all his heart that his brother would be able to leave by Monday, like he wanted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning woke all three Mavericks abruptly with the sound of the fire brigade rushing down the street. Bart sat up and looked at his brother and cousin, who were both looking at him with alarm, still afraid for anything to startle Bart's heart. When they saw that he seemed all right, Beau stood and went over to the window. His eyebrows shot up. "There's a fire right across the street."

Bart started to get out of his bed, but Bret grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

Bart blinked at him. "I wanna see."

Bret realized that he had no real reason to stop his brother from walking the measly ten feet. "Well, just slow down, will ya?"

Bart obeyed, standing and walking over to the window.

The blacksmith's shop was in flames, and shops on either side were in danger of being affected. The fire brigade and every other able-bodied man nearby were trying to put it out.

Bret watched Bart more than the fire, able to tell that his breathing wasn't normal despite Bart trying to hide it.

Being in the hospital for so long was boring enough for Bart to be fascinated by the fire, his mind having the chance to put his attention on something other than his condition. He silently watched, not taking his eyes off it.

Beau looked at him and whispered to Bret, "Looks like we might need to hide the matches."

Bart smiled at his quip, and continued to watch.

It didn't take too long for the fire to be put out, thankfully, and the adjoining shops managed to escape damage themselves. Once it was through and everyone started to leave, Bret tugged on Bart's arm and pulled him back over to the bed, sitting him down and studying him. "How do you feel?" he took his brother's wrist to check his pulse.

"Fine," Bart said.

"Really?" Bret asked him, relieved to find his brother's heart beating normally.

Bart nodded. "I feel fine."

"You're still breathing fast," Beau noticed.

Bart shrugged. "I'm used to it now." He realized too late that it was the wrong thing to say.

Bret sighed at his words. How was his brother supposed to go about his daily life without being able to breathe properly?

"Really, Bret, I feel fine," Bart said. "Well enough to leave."

Bret shook his head and voiced his thoughts. "How far do you think you'd get before you lose your breath?"

"I can't stay here forever," Bart said, sounding desperate again. "I _refuse_ to stay any longer."

"You said you wanted out by Monday," said Beau. "Today is Saturday...you still have one more day!"

"I didn't mean that I'd willingly stay until Monday!" Bart exclaimed.

"Take it easy," Bret said. "What would you do if the roles were reversed, Bart?"

Bart had no answer for that; he huffed and crossed his arms.

Bret squeezed his shoulder. "We'll talk to the doctor and see what he says."

"Good idea," they heard, as the doctor walked in. "I have a theory."

Everyone turned to look at him. "And what's that?" Bret asked.

The doctor held up his finger as if to say 'wait' as he approached the bed. "How do you feel? The _truth_ ," he said, before Bart could answer. "Tell me exactly what you feel, good or bad. I'll see right through you if you lie; I've been a doctor for a very long time!"

Bart smiled slightly. "I really feel okay," he said.

Bret and Beau noticed that 'fine' had become 'okay' instead now that Bart had to tell the complete truth.

"Describe 'okay'," said the doctor, checking his patient's pulse.

"No pain," Bart said. "I haven't felt my heart do anything wrong. I'm stronger and not exhausted anymore."

"And your breathing?" the doctor asked. None of them were surprised that Bart had left that out.

Bart shrugged. "It hasn't gone back to normal, but it isn't _bad_. It's just...fast."

"You're not getting enough oxygen," said the doctor, letting go of Bart's wrist. "And I think I know why; the thin Denver air."

All three Mavericks looked at each other. "You may not be as bad-off as it seems," the doctor continued. "The lower amount of oxygen at this high elevation could be making your lungs recover slower. You'll likely breathe better once you get far enough away from Denver."

Bart's eyebrows shot up. "This means that I can leave?"

"Tomorrow," said the doctor. "If I'm convinced that you're strong enough."

Bart smiled at his brother and cousin. He was getting out by Monday, just like he'd hoped!

TBC


	12. Ready to Go

Bart obeyed everything the doctor said that day, not wanting anything to interfere with his leaving the following morning. He was fidgety and in a better mood than he'd been all week. He ate everything that his brother and cousin put in front of him for breakfast and lunch when Bret told him that he'd better eat it all if he wanted to leave the next day, and when he obeyed, they deliberately overfilled his plate at supper.

Bart knew it, too. "This is too much food," he said.

Bret and Beau smiled. "Well you seemed to be so hungry today," said Bret.

Bart made a face. "I just decide to give up fighting you, that's all."

"To make sure we let you leave tomorrow!" said Beau.

Bret chuckled. "Well, brother Bart, if you want to leave, you'll eat it all!"

Bart said nothing. Bret had an unbelievable appetite and Bart's never measured up to his brother's, which had often been the subject of jokes over the years. Bret was taking advantage now and Bart knew it, but he knew that in this case, his brother was worried about his heath, so he let out his breath in a careful sigh and picked up his fork.

Beau's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Bret. Success!

Bart tried, but didn't manage to eat it all; there was enough food on his plate for two people and a dog. "If you want me to have _another_ reason to need a doctor, then make me finish this. Otherwise, I can't eat another bite."

"What do you think, Bret?" said Beau, jokingly.

Bret looked at his brother's face, and frowned as if he was thinking. "I guess we can let it slide." He took Bart's dish and put it on the nightstand. "All right, time for little brothers to go to sleep," he said, fixing the covers over Bart.

Bart's eyebrows shot up. "Sleep? It's only six o'clock!"

"If you want to leave tomorrow, you need to rest tonight," said Bret.

"I've rested all day," said Bart. "I've rested for over a _week_! If I go to sleep now, I'll be awake by midnight." He threw his covers off and stood up before anyone could stop him.

"And where do you think _you're_ going?" said Bret.

"To sit at the window. Is that all right with _you_?" Bart answered, sounding annoyed.

Bret sighed, before gesturing with his arm as if to say, 'go ahead'.

Bart went over to the window and opened it before sitting in the chair.

Bret looked at his brother, trying to figure out if he was mad, but Bart spoke before he had a chance to.

"Where are we going after this?" he asked.

Bret thought for a minute. "I think the most important question is _how_. Horseback would be foolish for you." He held his breath for a minute to see how Bart would react to that.

Bart nodded, which was a relief to Bret. Even _he_ knew that someone with weak lungs shouldn't ride through the thinnest air in the country. "Don't wanna go by stage, either," Bart said.

Bret nodded, not blaming him.

"A train, then," said Beau. "Easy travel, and the horses can ride in the stable car."

Bart and Bret both nodded.

"Find out what's leaving tomorrow and to where," Bart asked.

"Maybe we should head towards northern California," said Bret. "Summer's coming and you shouldn't have to deal with the heat right now, Bart."

Bart nodded his agreement; California sounded good.

The night passed too slowly for Bart, thanks to his eagerness to get out of there the next day. When morning came and he opened his eyes, he found a train ticket hovering in front of his face. He took it and smiled at Beau, looking it over. "When do we leave?" he asked.

"The train pulls out at two," said Beau.

Bart suddenly noticed that his brother wasn't in the room. "Where's Bret?" he asked.

"Talking to the doctor," Beau answered. "And it's _my_ turn when he gets back."

Bart was surprised to hear that. "What do you mean?"

"The doctor wants to make sure that we're fully educated, just in case," Beau told him.

Bart's right eyebrow went up. "In case of what?"

Beau sighed. "In case something happens. This was your _heart_ , Bart, for goodness sake."

Before Bart could say anything else, Bret came back. He smiled and acted completely normal, but Bart knew his brother well and could detect the apprehension in his expression. "What did he say?"

Bret sighed. "To keep a good eye on you, what signs to look for that would tell us that something's wrong, things like that. He's going to talk to you last."

Bart felt a flutter of anxiety in his stomach.

Beau patted his arm before heading out of the room.

Bart was quiet, and Bret watched him just as quietly, waiting to see if Bart would speak again.

"Out of everything they could've done, why chloroform?" Bart finally asked, sounding exasperated "I mean, we're always getting hit on the head; why not this time? Not that I'd want another bump to add to my collection, but I'd be recovered by now and we'd be living our normal lives as usual…"

"Our 'normal lives' of waiting to get hit on the head again," Bret said with a grin. "I think we should keep a tally; I have a feeling that you hold the record out of the three of us."

Bart smiled slightly, though he still looked troubled. "I don't doubt it," he said. After another quiet moment, he sighed and pushed the covers back, obviously intending to get out of bed.

Bret automatically opened his mouth, to protest, before closing his mouth again. Today marked Bart's tenth day in the hospital, and Bret still got anxiety when his brother exerted himself. He wondered how long it would be before that stopped.

Bart headed over to the chair in front of the window and sat down, deliberately breathing through his nose so that Bret wouldn't see the effect that the walk had on his lungs. It wasn't too bad, considering that the distance wasn't far, but he knew that his brother was watching his every move.

Bret headed over to stand next to him, and they both stared out the window together until Beau came back in with the doctor.

Bart looked at them and heaved a big sigh without thinking first. It caught in his lungs and made him dizzy, but he somehow managed not to show it. Swallowing the impulse to cough was harder, and he failed at it.

Everyone looked at him, but Bart managed to halt it quick enough that they weren't too concerned.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked him.

"Perfectly fine," Bart exaggerated.

The doctor smiled, not fooled. "I'm sure." He checked Bart's pulse and listened to his heartbeat and lungs before he leaned against the wall next to the window and crossed his arms. "I'm letting you go today, but you need to listen to my instructions and obey them if you expect to continue recovering."

Bart nodded, willing to do what it took to get out of the hospital.

For what seemed like an hour, the doctor told Bart that he was absolutely forbidden to run or do too much walking, especially if the weather was hot. 'Too much' was key, as walking was good exercise for Bart in order to strengthen his lungs; he simply needed to know when to stop before he hurt himself. He made Bart promise that he would tell Bret or Beau if his chest started to feel heavy, if he couldn't breathe, or if his heart did anything strange.

"I told your brother and cousin that if they think something is wrong with you, to get you to a doctor right away," the doctor told Bart. "So you better tell the truth if something is wrong; don't try to minimize it in order to avoid attention. We're talking about your _heart_ , son."

Bart silently nodded.

Finally, the doctor went over to the door and took down Bart's suit, which was hanging on it. He brought it over and Bret stood to take it. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes," he said. "Don't take him out of here before I return."

Bret nodded.

The doctor left, and as soon as he was out the door, Bart stood from the chair.

Beau reached out and grabbed his arms. "Slow down, cousin. That was another thing he told us; not to let you do anything too fast. Your heart has to get used to normal activity again."

Bart obeyed, slowly walking over to the bed and sitting on it, waiting for Bret to give him his clothes. "I can dress myself," he told him.

Bret nodded, wordlessly deciding to lend a hand anyway if he saw that his brother needed it.

Five or six minutes later, Bart had on his shirt, pants, and vest, but he stopped before buttoning it, breathing a little heavily.

Bret expected that to happen, and he wordlessly buttoned his brother's vest before deciding to undo the top button on Bart's shirt to help him breathe better. "You all right?" he asked, pulling Bart's undone tie from around his neck and putting it into his own pocket; his brother didn't need anything around his throat at a time like this.

Bart nodded, looking annoyed. He didn't expect to get breathless simply from getting dressed.

Beau was holding Bart's gray jacket, and sat beside him on the bed as they waited for his breathing to improve.

"I'm fine," Bart told them, reaching to take his jacket.

Beau slid it up his cousin's arms for him and Bret grabbed the lapels, settling it neatly while Bart made an annoyed face.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"We know," Bret replied, humoring him as he brushed off the shoulders of his brother's jacket.

Bart said nothing else, and they awaited the return of the doctor, who came back a few minutes later.

"Well," said the doctor, looking at Bart. "You're looking much improved."

Bart smiled at that. "And ready to go."

The doctor nodded, before holding up a finger. "You remember what I told you, now. Don't forget."

Bart nodded. "I won't." With that, he stood and Bret handed him his hat. He put it on with a smile, and they walked out the door.

All three men stared at Bart as they walked slowly; aware that this would be the longest he'd walked since his chloroform overdose. They were on the first floor, thankfully, and it wasn't very far to the front desk.

"Release Mr. Maverick, please," said the doctor.

The nurse at the counter took out the necessary papers and slid them towards Bart with smile.

Bart took the pencil and signed them happily, giving them back and returning the smile.

"I hope you continue to feel better, Mr. Maverick," the nurse said.

"Thank you, I'm sure I will," Bart said, still smiling.

"Not when you see this bill you won't," Bret mumbled. He took money out of his wallet and handed it over, before they tipped their hats at the nurse and turned towards the door.

Bart stuck out his hand towards the doctor, who shook it. "Thanks, doc, for everything."

The doctor smiled. "That's what I'm here for," he said. "Take care of yourself."

Beau shook his hand next. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but..."

The doctor chuckled.

Bret shook his hand last. "Thanks for rethinking that five-minute-oxygen rule. It saved his life, I think."

The doctor nodded. "I think so too, and I'll keep it in mind for the future."

They all said goodbye, and the three Mavericks walked out of the hospital together for the first time in ten days.

TBC


	13. Goodbye Denver

Once outside his 'prison', Bart had to stop himself from reflexively taking a deep breath of the fresh air, not wanting to risk losing his breath on the hospital doorstep and being dragged back in.

The other two Mavericks could plainly see the relief on his face. "Glad to be out of there?" Bret asked.

Bart smiled. "You have no idea. _No_ idea."

Beau slung one arm around each of his cousins. "I'd say this calls for a drink...of coffee! Anyone for breakfast?"

"Always," said Bret, predictably.

Bart smiled and they headed for the hotel directly across the street. It wasn't far, but it was the furthest that Bart had walked since his chloroform overdose, and he was breathing fast by the time they arrived.

Both of the other Mavericks shot him concerned looks, but he shook his head to tell them that he was fine. Once inside, he was relieved to sit down and blinked a few times, feeling a little lightheaded.

Bret and Beau were staring at him again, each one noticing that he looked pale.

"I'm fine," Bart told them, just as a waitress arrived. She took their orders, gave them coffee, and headed for the kitchen.

They were mostly quiet through their meal, not wanting Bart to waste precious air by talking. They were glad to see more color in his face by the time they were finished, and all three of them headed for the stairs.

Bret stopped Bart at the bottom. "You should stay here."

Bart shot him an indignant expression. "But—"

"Eleven steps, Bart," said Beau. " _Eleven_."

Bart looked at the staircase and quickly counted them himself: eleven indeed. He wasn't surprised at all that his cousin knew how many there were. "But—"

"I already packed everything," Beau continued. "Bret and I just have to go get the bags."

What could Bart really say? They didn't need three people to bring down three suitcases anyway, and there really was no way that he could climb eleven steps at the moment. "But—"

"I will," Bret said, knowing that his brother was asking him to make sure nothing of his was accidentally left behind. "Have a seat, we'll be right back."

Bart nodded and obeyed, walking to the nearest chair and sitting. As his brother and cousin walked upstairs, Bart had to smile and shake his head, amused at the one-sided conversation where Bret and Beau both knew what he was trying to say without him having to say it.

Bret and Beau were back a few minutes later, and they left the hotel. Bret tried to get Bart to stay where he was rather than go with them to collect their horses from the livery stable, but Bart quietly shook his head and followed anyway. Rather than make his brother waste breath arguing, Bret submitted since it wasn't far.

Bart was out of breath by the time they arrived, but trying to hide it. His horse nickered the instant it saw him, and Bart smiled, running his hand down the sickle-shaped mark on his forehead. "Miss me?" he said.

The horse nickered again.

At the sight, Bret had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Things could've turned out so differently...

Beau could tell what Bret was thinking, and clapped him on the shoulder before going over to Bart to intercept him before he could grab his saddle. Buckling it wouldn't impede Bart's breathing, but lifting it certainly would.

Bart let him, and seemed surprised that they were at least letting him fasten it. "Thanks," he said.

Beau gave him a bright smile and clapped his shoulder too before saddling his own horse.

Minutes later, they were riding out to head to the train station—after Bart declined their help to mount—and Beau suddenly said, "Bret, look."

Bret and Bart followed Beau's pointing finger, to see a man walking down the other side of the street towards the hospital, holding a Bible. "That's him," Bret said to Bart. "The preacher." Bart steered his horse to cross the street, and the other two followed.

The pastor—whose name they didn't even know—looked up when three horses neared him. He instantly recognized Bret and Beau, and he smiled wide when he saw Bart. "Mr. Maverick!"

"That's me," said Bart, smiling back.

The pastor reached out to shake Bart's hand. "I was just on my way to the hospital, wondering if I would find you still there."

Bart shook his head. "I just got out."

"Leaving town so soon?"

"Taking a train out of Denver," Bret answered for Bart, not wanting him to have to talk too much. "The thin air isn't good for him."

The pastor nodded, smiling up at Bart again. "God obviously has His hand on you. When I saw you last week, you didn't look long for this world, son."

Bart nodded. He could only imagine.

"I prayed for you all week," said the pastor. "I knew that I would get good news today. God hears our prayers."

Bart smiled again. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Same here," Bret told him. "You have no idea."

The pastor nodded. He could tell that the three Mavericks were very close.

The train suddenly blew its horn, indicating that its passengers should board.

The pastor reached up to shake Bart's hand again. "The next time you're in Denver, visit the church. In the meantime...stay away from dark alleys."

Bart chuckled. "I will."

"Dark alleys and Mavericks don't mix," said Beau.

The pastor smiled as he shook Beau's hand next. "Then I will keep you _all_ in my prayers!"

Beau smiled. "We need it!"

Bret gripped the pastor's hand tightly when it was his turn. "Thank you," he said, sincerely.

The pastor smiled. "Anytime. Now hurry before you miss your train!"

The three Mavericks all said goodbye and rode off to the train station, the pastor's words echoing in Bart's mind. With all of the awful situations that he'd managed to survive, he wondered if God really _did_ watch over him...

THE END


End file.
